


I Can Hear Your Heartbeat

by elle_you_oh



Series: I'll Heal the Pieces of Your Broken Heart [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Doctors AU, F/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_you_oh/pseuds/elle_you_oh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Chief of Staff asks him to travel halfway across the country and convince a Russian prodigy to join SHIELD memorial, Clint isn't overly impressed. But as soon as he lays eyes on one Natasha Romanoff, he realises this assignment could turn out a lot more interesting than he originally considered. Prequel to May's Anatomy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 Thing

Clint is a pretty easy going guy for a surgeon - he’s calm and collected, and mostly plays by the rules, when he’s not around pranking people, but he never gets caught so that’s really not an issue. That’s why he nearly drops a stack of patient files and a cup of hot coffee when an eager young intern pops up by his side and gives him a message.

“Chief Fury wants to see you in his office.”

No more than ten minutes later he’s sitting both in shock and annoyance, across from the Chief of Surgery and Chief of Staff, after they’ve finished instructing him on what it is they want him to do for them.

“You want to me do what?!”

Both Dr. Carter and Chief Fury look like they’re about to open their mouths to speak again, so Clint just holds up a hand to stop them, while he presses the other against his face. The two doctors in front of him are the most adept in the art of sarcasm in the entire hospital, and he just knows how this scene will play out if they have repeat themselves, so he changes the question.

“Why me?”

They both raise an eyebrow at him and he knows full well that they've already explained to him why he is the perfect choice for this assignment - the "why me?" is more of a dramatic cry to the heavens, because he really doesn't like the idea of being a lackey for the higher ups.

"All the details and everything you'll need are in the file. Hunter will cover your patients while you're gone. Your flight leaves for San Francisco at 0600 hours tomorrow."

They both look to him expectantly and he realises that he's being dismissed. Grabbing the file from the stack upon which it sat, he nods in resignation, and leaves to do some research before his week long "assignment".

***

Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

Or,

Natasha Romanoff, as she is more commonly known as.

24.

Single.

A Cardiothoracic Fellow.

She's brilliant, and already one of the best in her field - a former child prodigy who was born, raised and trained in Russia, before coming to the United States and doing an internship in California.

There isn't a hospital in the entire country that doesn't want her on board as part of their staff - some are going through drastic measures in their attempt to recruit her; the place she trained at back in her mother Russia has sent a team of representatives to ensure her return to their program.

And Chief Fury wants him to convince her that Shield is the one to choose.

***

He hasn’t been on the west coast for some time now, and the plane ride over is as close to horrible as a plane ride can get. He only has a couple of hours to get settled in to his hotel room and prepare for the day, before having to check in at the hospital where he’s assisting on a case.

A case that one Dr. Romanoff just so happens to be working.

He’s not sure how Fury and Carter managed to swing that one - and why he’s the one being sent across the country to shadow her and help out on a surgery that doesn’t require someone of his skill level. Ward is a first year plastics fellow and he’s more than capable of handling the operation that they’re scheduled to perform - plus he’s young and easy on the eyes - a much better candidate for wooing an attractive female doctor.

Not an old geezer like him.

He’s supposed to meet with her later on in the day, and “subtly make friends” until the farewell party the hospital is throwing for her at the end of the week, where he’s expected to pop the question.

“How would you like to come and work for Shield Memorial Hospital?”

He can already see how that’s going to turn out - this trip will be a complete waste of time. But who is he to decline a week long vacation?

***

No amount of googling and online stalking could have prepared him for the sight that awaits him when he finally manages to stumble into the ER - which had been an absolute bitch to find, by the way.

It’s quite possibly the most chaotic emergency room he’s had the misfortune of stumbling upon in all his years of medical experience.

He spots his target almost immediately, the red headed doctor in the corner of the room with her back turned to him, arguing loudly with a much bigger man. He approaches with the utmost caution, because that guy could probably throw him halfway across the state with one swing.

He couldn’t have predicted what were to happen next had he been able to see the future.

The scary-looking guy looks down towards the ground in shame, and scurries off with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

Clint’s right behind her now, and he subtly shifts his weight from one foot to another before clearing his throat to draw her attention.

“Dr. Roma-”

He doesn’t even have the chance to finish his greeting as she whips around, long red curls flying up and practically slapping him in the face - he almost catches a mouthful of hair.

He blinks twice, and opens his mouth to finish his sentence, but before he gets the chance he's bowled over by an onslaught of what he can only imagine to be Russian curses. The response locks into his throat however as he simply stares back.

She's absolutely gorgeous.

He's fucked.

It takes him several moments longer to realise that she’s switched back to English and is demanding his attention with an annoyed glare.

“-ven listening to me?”

She appears by all means pissed, and Fury will have his head if he’s managed to screw things up in the first five minutes, so he quickly nods.

“Yes, yes, sorry -”

_I’m staring because you’re so incredibly gorgeous and you’ve rendered me speechless._

He tilts his head to the side and runs a hand through his hair with an awkward shrug.

“I’m partially deaf.”

Way to go Clint. Playing the “I’m technically disabled” card.

Her gaze immediately flickers over to the side of his head, and he knows that she’s spied the very well concealed hearing aid in his ear. He can almost hear Tony’s obnoxious voice in his head singing “designed and paid for by Stark Industries research facility”.

“Well make sure they’re working when you’re on call,” she responds with a pointed look at the aids, before turning away from him and heading off towards the nurses station.

It takes him another moment or two to realise that she means for him to follow, and in his haste to do so, almost slams into a gurney and knocks an intern over. He mumbles his apologies and hurries to catch up, not wanting to annoy her any further. She shoots him a look of disdain and unceremoniously dumps a pile of patient charts into his arms - thank the lord for his quick reflexes or he would have dropped it all - before continuing down the corridor, and into a ward.

He turns to the nurse behind the table in confusion and she just shakes her head in amusement.

“You better get those patient details memorized by tomorrow, or Dr. Romanoff might just bite off your head.”

***

The video chat request comes through at exactly eight that evening, just as Fury had said it would, and he places a pencil as a bookmark between the pages of the file he is almost finished reading through, before clicking the green “Accept” button.

A pair of voices come through the speakers before the video feed has a chance to load, and he shifts in his seat, smoothing down the front of his shirt to look at least partially presentable in the company of women.

“Barton! How’s the weather over there?”

“Maria - this is a work call, not a personal one. You can chat with Clint all you like once he returns.”

The video finally loads, and it’s awfully blurry and lagging because the hotel wi-fi is horrendous, but he makes out the familiar face of Peggy Carter, who, despite the pixelation, looks dreadfully serious.

“How was your meeting with Dr. Romanoff?”

He’s inclined to tell her the truth - because lying to the Chief of Staff might just get you fired - but his appalling first impression on the brilliant Natasha Romanoff that their hospital was trying to woo might put him on paperwork for a month.

“She’s given me the opportunity to assist her on further cases,” he says, lifting one of the files to show her - because it’s not necessarily untrue. He has a feeling that she’s just giving him busy work to keep him out of her way, but Peggy doesn’t need to know that.

“Good. I shall keep Chief Fury updated on your progress. Need I not remind you how crucial it is that we recruit her for our Cardio department.”

He manages a nod and listens as she goes over a few more things, before wishing him a good night, and good luck. When the video feed turns black, he leans back in his seat with a groan, massaging his temples with both hands.

It’s taken him half the day to get through a third of the files, and at this rate, he’ll likely only manage a couple of hours of sleep before he’s due back at the hospital.

Unfortunately, lack of sleep is the least of his worries at the moment.

He’s only known her for eight hours, and interacted with her for two minutes, but he’s pretty sure he’s in love with one Dr. Natasha Romanoff.

And whether or not he finishes memorizing those patient files, he’ll definitely be losing his head if - no, when - Fury finds out.

Because Fury always finds out.


	2. 2 Do

The next three days pass just as roughly as the first. He’s not sure what Dr. Romanoff thinks he is, because she treats him like her personal intern, and he wonders if she has any clue that he’s a successful ENT and plastic surgeon with years of experience in the OR.

She rarely addresses him, unless it’s to point something out (he’s not even sure she knows his name)- but he finds himself under her unwavering gaze more often than not, an almost permanent frown ingrained across her features.

He tries to avoid looking at her- because once he starts, he has difficulty taking his eyes off her. He’s not shallow - she’s gorgeous, but it’s the mysteries behind those brilliant green eyes and her no nonsense attitude and her fiery personality that he’s fallen for.

So he fetches her coffee, helps out with her paperwork, and does pretty much everything she tells him to. If it were anyone else, he most definitely would have hopped on the first flight back to D.C., because doing a repeat of his first year of residency is a complete waste of time.

But it’s not and he’s already promised to stay here for a week, and if that means being a slave to a brilliant woman for the duration for that time, well, then he’s totally fine with that.

* * *

 

They’re down in the pediatric ward for the afternoon, and Clint’s not exactly sure why because he has Dr. Romanoff’s schedule memorized and she’s supposed to have the day off today; which really meant that he should have had the day off, but instead, they’re helping out with entertaining a group of sick children.

Clint’s not complaining, really.

Some of these kids were terminally ill, cancers, tumours, heart conditions, you name it, many still recovering from transplants and surgeries, some requiring regular transfusions or dialysis. Others had lifelong ailments that weren’t serious enough to have them in a hospital bed twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, but had regular hospital stays for check-ups.

They weren’t the kids who came in during flu season with a high fever, discharged hours later with instruction of extra fluids, chicken soup and cuddles. They weren’t the kids who fell off a swing at the park and dislocated their arm, the ones who tripped during a soccer match and badly scraped their knees, their sores soothed by promise of ice cream for dinner and time off school.

These children had seen more pain in their lives than most adults. He’s more than happy to do his duty as a member of the society and spend some time with these kids. It’s clear to him when they enter the designated play area, that this is not Romanoff’s first rodeo. Her cold and stoic mask melts away into a bright smile as the children greet her, excitement evident in their voices and the way they all scramble to surround her as fast as they possibly can.

“Doctor Nat, look at this drawing I made of you.”

“Doctor Nat, I read a new book today,”

“Doctor Nat, who’s he?”

Clint feels like a deer in the headlights as a little girl with big curious eyes tugs on the hem of Romanoff’s scrub shirt whilst pointing a finger in his direction. The rest of the children have noticed him as well, and they’re all just watching him, clearly unsure of the strange new man standing in the doorway.

“Why don’t you guys go and find out?”

As excitable as these tiny humans are, they’re mostly too shy or wary of him to approach, preferring to stick by Natasha’s side, and he’s left just awkwardly staring there. But the same little girl who inquired about his identity runs over to him, clinging onto his scrub pants and staring up at him with a toothy smile.

“Hi,” she trills with a giggle, before releasing his pants and raising both her arms at him. Clint takes the hint and hoists her up to rest on his hip, one arm carefully supporting her back as she grins happily at being four feet off the ground.

“I’m Kate and I’m this many,” she says, proudly holding out her palm in front of his face.

“Well I’m Clint and I don’t have enough fingers to tell you how old I am,” he jokes, but she’s not laughing, instead looking at him with the judgemental face only a child could pull off.

“You’re a big person, you don’t need your fingers to count.”

Charming.

“Doctor Natasha, your friend is stupid,” she calls out across the room when his only response to her is stunned silence, and Romanoff extricates herself from the grasp of tiny hands as she makes her way over and plucks Kate straight from Clint’s arms.

“Katie, we don’t call people stupid,” she admonishes the child, before adding in a whisper, “in front of their faces.”

“But your friend is stupid, he can’t even count.”

Romanoff actually laughs, bouncing the little brat in her arms before responding. “Yes, that is why he is not my friend.” She looks him in the eye, as if daring him to object, completely unapologetic about her words. He feels a spark of annoyance towards her, but figures she’s just humouring the kid, and he’s not about to make a scene in front of children over a petty comment.

Children did have goldfish like memories though, because minutes later, Kate is pulling him towards a table so they can colour together. They’re joined by a group of the kids, who cautiously approach him and poke him to make sure he’s “safe”, before sitting at the table and fighting over the pencils.

He’s exhausted by the time the nurses come to escort the kids back to their rooms, but little Kate gives him a big hug before she leaves and tells him she had fun today and he can’t help the warm fuzzy feeling within him. It’s an inspirational experience, and he makes a note to bring up the idea to the Chief about doing a similar thing back at SHIELD.

Dr. Romanoff dips her head at him when they leave the room and it’s probably some sort of peace offering so he smiles back with a shrug.

* * *

 

Their scheduled evening surgery is bumped for a case even more serious, and Clint is surprised when Romanoff tells him to scrub in with her, because he hasn’t seen the inside of an OR since he left D.C. He assumes he’ll just be standing in the back and watching the show from over everyone else’s shoulders, like any old intern, and his assumption is definitely correct.

The attending in charge is kind of a jackass; an older general surgeon with “much more experience than you kids” as he so aptly put it himself and Clint takes an immediate disliking to him.

They’re operating on a kid pulled from the wreckage of a car crash, with a whole lotta injuries and everything is pretty smooth sailing until it isn’t. The monitor starts to beep at an alarming rate and Clint realises that even with the oxygen mask on, none of it is actually getting in.

He tries to step in but doctor jackass just sneers, scalpel in hand, pointing at Clint in a threatening manner.

“What’s a guy like you know about surgery? Stop interrupting us before you get this kid killed”

Clint is about to protest when Romanoff speaks up, her voice even and soft, words like steel cutting through the air.

“Doctor Barton is a well respected ENT and plastic surgeon from Shield Memorial. I trust his judgement completely. Now you back down before your ego takes another innocent life.”

Clint is taken aback by her defense of his skills, which he didn’t know she had actually been aware of; as far as she cared, he was just her personal lackey for the week. She beckons him over with a hand, and several of the residents step back to make room for him, and then it’s a race against the clock to save this kid’s life.

* * *

 

“I thought you didn’t even know my name Romanoff,” he confesses to her as they scrub out together, and he’s surprised when she snorts at him, shaking the excess water from her hands and arms before reaching for a paper towel.

“You thought wrong. And it’s Natasha.”

Her eyes are- well shining, if that’s the right way to describe it. They speak of a thousand secrets and all the knowledge she has and he doesn’t know how to respond. She knows why he’s here, why he’s being all buddy, buddy with her, and he wonders if he should explain himself. Wonders if he should tell her before she confronts him about it, though from what he’s learnt about her so far, she’s not the kind to bring things up until they hit her in the face; metaphorically of course.

He is in way over his head.

Luckily, one of the brasher doctors saves him from any more awkwardness.

“Oi, we’re hanging at the bar tomorrow night. Barton, you can come too.”

They leave before Clint can actually respond, and he turns to Romanoff, no Natasha, with question in his eyes. “Will you be there?”

“Maybe.”

And sometimes even the hope of maybe is enough.


	3. 3 Words

 

The bar is pretty full when Clint arrives, fashionably on time, and he dips his head, acknowledging some of the doctors he recognises from the hospital, before making his way over to the bar.

Sure, they invited him along and all, but he barely knows them and accepted with the tiniest hope that Natasha would change her mind and decide to turn up.

* * *

 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know that she’s decided to make an appearance - the wolf whistles and jeers and shouts of “Romanoff, over here”, pretty much give it away. He keeps his gaze trained on the patterns of the black marble benchtop, warped through the base of his empty drinking glass, forcing himself to ignore the fact that Natasha is here, in the bar.

What surprises him is that after she’s made her rounds, chatting with her other coworkers, she appears by his side, and grabs his arm, dragging him over to an empty booth by the back.

Maybe he’s starting to win her over.

* * *

 

He’s much more open and carefree when he’s had a couple of drinks, and it appears she is very much the same, because she’s actually smiling and laughing at his little tales and jokes.

The bartender brings them a tray of drinks with oddly coloured shots when Natasha asks for the usual, and then they’re playing an improvised game of “I have never”. She ends up finishing all ten shots because she’s just as adventurous as he imagined and for someone who is over a decade older than her he’s led a rather dull life.

He’s about to begin another topic of conversation when he realises just how close they’ve gotten. Natasha is practically pressed up against his side, her hair tickling his neck and - was that her hand resting against his knee?

He shifts slightly, not because he’s uncomfortable with the situation he’s in but because he can’t tell whether she’s glued to his side because she’s genuinely trying to flirt with him, or she’s really drunk.

“You know what would be fun?” she asks, twirling a lock of her bright red hair around one finger with a bright smile, cheeks flushed pink.

He turns his entire body round to face her, to show that all his attention is on her, and mainly to dislodge her hand, which had begun a torturous climb up his thigh. She doesn’t appear to notice the true intentions behind his movement, because she regards him with another grin before rising from the booth.

“I’ll be right back.”

He watches as she makes her way over to the bar, trying to convince himself that he’s only imagining the sway of her hips as she moves. He tears his eyes away from her as she turns, another tray in her hands as she slinks back into the booth beside him with a cheeky smile.

“You ever tried this before?” she asks, drawing his gaze to the contents of the silver tray on the table beside them; a half empty bottle of tequila, two empty shot glasses, a ramekin of salt and a small dish lined with lime wedges.

"No" he replied, looking back up to her.

"Your first time eh?" she smirked. "I can't promise to be gentle"

With a smirk, she reaches over and takes his hand, bringing it up to her lips. He doesn't know what to expect and almost freezes in shock as her tongue darts out and licks the area between his thumb and forefinger, though he can't say the things racing through his find the moment she makes contact with his skin are decent whatsoever.

She draws back with another self-satisfied smile, and reaches over to the tray, grabbing a pinch of salt and sprinkling the granules over his hand, the grains adhering to his skin the area where she had licked him moments ago.

Clint just sits still, letting Natasha hold his hand in hers as she turns her attention to the tray, pouring out two shots, before picking up a slice of lime.

She flicks her gaze up at him, almost batting her eyelashes, and this time he feels something, an emotion within him that he can’t quite pinpoint, and something else, not so internal that causes him to shift in his seat once more.

“Watch,” she says, her voice low as she dips her head and proceeds to remove all the salt she placed onto his skin, her long red curls tickling his arm in the process. He’s not distracted by it, heeding her instructions to watch, as she raises her head and drops his hand, grabbing one of the two shot glasses and draining the contents. He tries his hardest not to blink, holding his breath as she drops the glass back onto the tray and takes a bite of the lime.

“Your turn,” she almost whispers, fingers teasing the open collar of his shirt, barely making contact with the exposed skin there.

He nods slowly and clears his throat, reaching over for the salt in an attempt to mimic her actions. She stops him with a gentle hand before he’s even halfway there, and completes the task for him, once again peppering his skin with a layer of salt crystals.

Taking a deep breath, he licks his hand, inwardly cringing at the assault on his tastebuds, the salt becoming almost bitter against his tongue. That however, is soon forgotten as he knocks back the shot of tequila, which simply causes a burning sensation all around his mouth and down his throat - he can almost feel the metaphorical flames dancing as the alcohol makes it’s way through his body. Screwing his eyes shut, he reaches for a lime wedge, and bites down into it.

His eyes fly open when he realises there is much less liquid and bitterness than there should be for an eighth of a lime. He immediately looks over to the plate, seeing seven untouched slices, before turning to Natasha, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment.

She’s regarding him with an expression of amusement, not disgust or distaste as he would have predicted, and he slowly sets the now empty shot glass and twice bitten wedge of lime back onto the tray.

Folding his hands over his lap, for more reasons than one, he waits for her to continue with the game. As he watches her pour another two shots out, he can’t help but imagine all of the other places he could possibly lick salt from; down her arm, from her stomach, the corner of her lip…

“You know,” she says, clearing her throat and effectively snapping him out of his little fantasy, “we were by all means, technically kissing”. Her gaze flicks over to the lifeless wedge of lime before focusing on him, his lips.

He doesn’t know if it’s the amount of alcohol she’s managed to get him to consume, or the fact that he seriously lacks self control around her, because he can’t stop the words from forming in his mind.

“I’d rather be really kissing.”

He doesn’t realise that the alcohol and lack of self control combined meant that the words he thought were occurring in his mind, were simultaneously uttered for whoever happened to be listening to hear, until Natasha’s face is inches from him and her lips are ghosting over his.

“Natasha, wha-”

She doesn’t let him finish as she brings a hand up and runs her thumb over his bottom lip, before settling her hand against the edge of his jaw, gently trailing the soft skin of her fingertips, and the edges of her blood red nails, along the slight scruff that remains on his skin after a day of not shaving.

Clint can do no more than watch in wonder, as she moves closer to him once more, her eyelashes fluttering closed when she’s only centimetres from his face. He can feel her breath tickling his lips, and he finds himself closing his own eyes when he feels her lips touch his own once more.

There’s no resistance this time, and as he presses forwards, blindly reaching out for her waist and pulling her closer when his hand makes contact with her hip.

He can taste the lingering remnants of salt on her lips, combined with the sour tang of lime as she kisses him deeper, letting her tongue trail against his lips, hands tugging at his hair. He’s struggling for breath, but oxygen is definitely a secondary need right now, the nip of teeth against his lower lip drawing a quiet groan from low in his throat.

Clint isn’t sure when his hands found their way into her hair, but there they are, and she’s so close to him now she may as well be sat on his lap. Something inside is telling him to remember they’re in a public place, a bar surrounded by other customers, potentially still some of their fellow doctors, but all he can think about is how he’s 90% sure this is a dream, because there is no way on earth it’s really happening to him.

He can scarcely believe the events that have just played out when she pulls away, lipstick smeared and her hair even more wild than usual, thanks to his wandering hands. She’s smiling again, mostly to herself as she downs one last shot of tequila, this time without all the theatrics, and brushes back her hair with one hand.

“We have an early morning shift,” she says, and he tries to hide his disappointment at the realisation that their evening together is now over. He nods stiffly and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, hoping that he has enough cash on him to cover their tab for the evening, but once again she stops him with a gentle hand.

“I’ve got it covered,” she tells him, turning to give the bartender a little wave, before grabbing Clint’s elbow and slowly pulling him towards the door.

They exit the bar into the surprisingly quiet night, leaving behind the hustle and bustle of the merry drunk. Clint shoves both hands into his pockets, really unsure of how to proceed from where they were, but luckily, Natasha takes control of the situation, just like she does everything else in life.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she tells him softly, lips ghosting by his ear before withdrawing completely, offering him a small smile and turning away, heading off down the road.

* * *

 

When he falls asleep in his hotel room that night, having forgone the mandated video chat with the Chief, he dreams of only Natasha, her smile, the secrets in her eyes, the red of her hair and the feel of her lips against his own.


End file.
